


Le Vrai Bleu Royale (The True Royal Blue)

by slightly_murderous_sorcerer (emerald_witch_esmeralda)



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 16:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19136398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emerald_witch_esmeralda/pseuds/slightly_murderous_sorcerer
Summary: The color blue has always held a special place in William of Orange’s heart for as long as he could remember...interestingly enough it’s also the favorite color of his greatest enemy and greatest object of his thoughts, King Louis XIV of France.Four times where William of Orange fell in love with blue, and one time he didn’t.





	Le Vrai Bleu Royale (The True Royal Blue)

_The Sky ___  
Ever since William was a little boy, he loved to spend as much time as possible outside. Of course, it was to play with his friends and escape from the watchful eye of his governess and tutors, but he had a deeper reason even in his little seven-year old breast.  
The sky.  
He was always looking at the sky...and his playmates found it quite peculiar. One of them even mockingly asked: “You see God or somethin’, Highness? (earning him a box on the nose from an angry little prince). It wasn’t the fresh air, or even the stories that Mama would tell him about dragons that flew through the skies in search of princesses and treasure that memorized him. It was the color.  
William had never seen something so perfect in his entire life. According to Mama, Johann and his teachers, the color was called _blue_. And it was perfect. Blue meant freedom...he wanted to be as free as the birds that flew through the air that he had trouble getting into his asthmatic lungs...that blue was full of air, Johann had said. It was where all air came from. He’d have no trouble breathing up there, he could fly and sing like a bluebird and he’d be so _free_...  


  
It was the first time that William of Orange fell in love with blue.  


  


  
_The Ocean:_  
When William was ten, it was the first time he’d ever been on a boat. The sea was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, like a sky that he could touch. The blue stretched on for miles with no end in sight, perfect and clear as the sky but with a deeper but no less vibrant shade. Since children had a tendency to put labels on everything, he was determined to find the perfect name for every shade of blue that existed. “It’s called royal blue, Highness.” De Witt had told him as they stood on deck, the breeze ruffling their hair.  
“Why do they call it that, Johann?”  
“The French call it that because it’s their king’s favorite color.” He’d added in undisguised disgust. Childish eyes widened, his curiosity piqued. William had heard many tales about the king that lived in the land on the other side of this blue, blue sea...Louis was his name. Many of the tales were not flattering: he was under the control of his mother. He was vain, silly, spoiled. Greedy. Wanted to rule over everyone and thought himself a god. But he’d also heard whispers from those who admired him. He was a shrewd statesman, smart, crafty. Valiant in battle. Brilliant, devious and handsome. Ever since he’d heard those tales he’d wanted to meet this Louis, and maybe fight him one day. But now that he knew his favorite color was blue...he wanted to meet him even more. Somebody who loved blue couldn’t be all bad, because blue was all good.  
The blood of royals was supposed to be blue, even though William only saw red when he scraped his knee. Blue was the freedom of the fish in the water and the birds in the sky. Blue was the sweetly singing birds and the color of Mama’s favorite dress. Blue was the color of his bedspread when he was tucked in warm and safe at night. The ladies swooned when they talked about dreams of seeing the French king’s palace, painted in gold, but William didn’t care much for such things. Who cares about palaces in gold when the man himself was painted in _blue_? His eyes were supposed to be like the sky, infinite and so very, _very_ blue. He probably dressed in royal blue all the time...and it wasn’t golden palaces he dreamt of when he nodded off at night, but a king dressed in blue. When his friends talked about the girls they’d marry one day, they always talked of white dresses and them holding roses. When William dreamt of his wedding, secret dreams...his bride didn’t wear a white gown. The _man_ he married wore a blue waistcoat with golden French lilies, and carried blue irises in his hands that matched his eyes.  


  
Even when Mama died later that year, they buried her in that beautiful blue dress and William just knew in his broken and confused heart that she would be okay. That color would make her happy when she went to heaven...because the sky was blue and Jesus dressed in blue, didn’t He? So everything would be alright.  


  


  
_The Battlefield_  
When the French soldiers advanced on Holland, William learned that the color blue wasn’t always a good thing...and to be honest he was bitterly disappointed in addition to the anger at the invasion himself. The color has been such a comfort to him in his youth, was anything but a comfort now. But that childish disappointment gave way to fascination, the French army looking like a literal sea of blue. His own orange hued soldiers were cutting them down with ease, even the ones he cut down himself he couldn’t help but think about of how morbidly beautiful the brilliant scarlet of their blood blossomed over the blue of their coats...like a red flower growing out of the water. Or a speck of red in a flawed sapphire. That was the first time that William of Orange _hated_ blue.  
When they flooded the dikes, the water that swept away the French tide was decidedly not blue, but became stained red with blood nevertheless. He would not let Holland fall into French hands while he lived, but as brilliant as he was on the field, he grew tired of fighting and he knew his people did as well...he was weary. Some called it “feeling blue”, the second time in his life that blue was associated with something negative and an association that many Dutchmen would carry all their lives...which is why he sent an offer of negotiation to the French only when he knew that he’d had the upper hand. When his soldier returned with the news that Louis would only treat with him in person, it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to let himself smile in front of his men. Now he’d meet the man whom he did not get to face in battle, despite his soldiers wearing his color. He’d see those eyes for himself, those maddening blue eyes that had never left his mind even as a child and hopefully strike fear into them.  


  


_Bourbon Blues_  
William was a bit disappointed, this was not how he imagined their first meeting...but only a bit. Louis was covered in mud, and notably he was dressed in red instead of blue, having discarded his coat in a fit of fury that William had the fortune of seeing firsthand before the French king had even noticed his presence. But it was probably for the best...in his dreams as a child, Louis was almost a god-like figure to be admired and then toppled into glorious destruction so it was quite sobering to know that he was a flesh and blood man just like William was. But those eyes. _God above, those **eyes**._  
They were every bit as brilliant and blue as William had dreamed. And as infinite as the ocean and the sky...perhaps even more so than both of them combined. Over the course of their three-day negotiation, he’d seen them shocked and embarrassed when William and his men had caught him wrong-footed. He’d seen them irritated when he wasn’t given Maastricht, he’d seen them angry and sparking fire when William landed his carefully-placed remarks exactly where he’d intended them to go. He’d seen them frightened when William crept closer to the truth he’d tried to keep buried, he’d seen them twinkle with smug superiority when they’d first met and sat down...he’d even seen them tired and weary from the constant psychological war that raged within him. The one that he’d come to an _actual_ war to escape. He’d seen them in nearly every way that eyes could be seen, and they were perfectly glorious each and every time. Louis had called them his Bourbon blues, because apparently blue eyes ran in that family. That, and royal blue being a symbol of France. There was one way that William had yet to see those eyes, and that was the way he’d wanted to see them nearly his whole life...the way that they would look in the throes of passion. If only he could see _that_ , his victory would be complete.  
When they agreed to an alliance some time later and met in William’s tent privately to discuss the terms, after a battle of wits and desires, the stadtholder got his greatest wish and this time Louis _had_ come to him dressed in blue. He'd taken far more pleasure than he cared to admit in ripping that deep indigo waistcoat from the French king's shoulders, unwrapping him like a long-awaited gift. He was utterly adrift at sea, and if he could die by drowning in the intense Bourbon blues which stared up at him now through sweaty, mussed brown hair then he was near certain that he could die happy.  
They agreed to seal the alliance by marriage, in which Louis proposed to William with a sapphire ring. The wedding itself was magnificent in gaudy, gilded French style...but Louis was once again gilded in blue. Dressed in French blue from head to toe, with blue irises in his hands...just like his dream. His breath had hitched upon the sight, though he would deny it until the day he died.  


  
Later that night, William had worried alone in his room over whether he had done the right thing, or had he sent his country into French hands with their britches round their ankles like De Witt would’ve done. Surprisingly, his new husband came to comfort him, those perfect blue eyes holding an expression in them that he’d never seen before.  
Tenderness. Understanding.  
He’d held William and reassured him that he was a great leader, and that while they may never like each other that Louis had always respected him. William appreciated that...they always knew where they stood with one another regardless whether the other knew that they knew it. Louis had smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead, William had laid his head on his chest and breathed his perfume through that costly sapphire fabric. His head was spinning so much, he’d grabbed onto Louis to stop himself from floating away. Minutes later, when they were tangled together in Louis’ blue silk sheets and he saw those eyes in the depths of passion once more, slowly softening from a stormy sea to a lake on a calm day...that was the third time that William of Orange fell in love with the color blue. 

  


  
_Les Vrais Bleus Royales_  
William was in absolute agony, his collarbone had been snapped in that fall from his horse and something nasty had crept in to damage his always weak lungs far more than what they could handle. The blood he’d coughed up for the last three days was red, and he expected that of course. But the eyes of his husband, reddened from salt and the tears that kept flowing were as blue as ever...possibly even bluer than he’d ever seen them due to them standing out in stark relief against the pink. When he looked into them, things didn’t really hurt as badly. Louis had not left his side, not even to attend council...instead he insisted they hold it right in the bedroom. The only times he left were when he was pulled away to go change or eat. William could see it in the set of his jaw that he was trying so hard to be strong for the both of them, but when the courtiers left he threw himself upon William’s hand and sobbed, begging him not to leave him. That he loved him, that he’d lost dearest Philippe the previous year, not being able to make up with him after the argument they had the day before his death and that he could not bear to lose him too. William hated it, he hated not being able to comfort his love even more than he hated the pain...he just wished it would _stop_ already. Even a man with reputation for iron control has his limits.  
When night fell, William felt heavy. Good news, the pain had lessened greatly. Bad news, he felt like his limbs were made of iron and everything was numb. Turning his head, and even that took effort, he saw Louis sleeping in a chair next to his bed and smiled, reaching out a trembling hand to lift up the king’s chin to look at him. His eyes had flown open...shiny and blue and perfect in the candlelight. He was wearing the outfit that William adored, the one that he had worn at their wedding...and even in as much pain he was in, he was absolutely touched. _Blue. You were always unfailingly lovely in blue. If only it were just this vision taking away my breath, and not the malady._  
“William?” Louis whispered desperately, clutching onto his husband’s wrist. William just kept giving him that soft smile, holding his gaze. _”Les vrais bleus royales.”_ He whispered, before finally letting sleep pull him under. The last thing he heard was what sounded very much like screaming that was abruptly cut off as the world around him dissolved into nothing. But he wasn’t worried, he wanted to tell Louis that he’d be alright , that he’d be in heaven. And heaven would be the color of the sky, the wide sea, Mama’s favorite gown and Louis’ Bourbon blue eyes. That he’d say hello to Philippe for him and wait for him so that they could be free together.  


____  
But unfortunately, Death was disappointingly black.  



End file.
